


Merry Christmas Draco

by Count_of_Catterack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Draco works at the Ministry, Dramatic Draco Malfoy, Humor, M/M, Pansy is tired of Draco's bullshit, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17043128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count_of_Catterack/pseuds/Count_of_Catterack
Summary: Draco Malfoy finds a Christmas card on his desk: it has a singing and confetti-vomiting Christmas tree on it. Draco thinks it's a joke, Pansy is horrified, Hermione can't believe how stupid this is, Harry loses his mind, Ron worries about Harry, and Blaise enjoys watching the whole thing.





	1. Mon beau sapin

“Merry Christmas Draco”.

He stared at the letters trying to make sense of the three words written on the back of a tacky postcard he found on his desk. He came back from lunch to discover a rectangular piece of red paper with a pine tree on it. Every two minutes or so, the tree would sing a silly christmas carol while throwing up confetti all over the floor. 

Father, in the twisted manner he so cherished, used to say that instead of starting with the beginning, you should start with the end. It was one of the falsely philosophical things his father loved to say: everything lies in the end. How ironic of him to meet his end in a damp cell.

The sound of heels clicking by in the corridor brought him back to the dimly lit office he worked in.

He looked at the message again. Draco. Start from the end. He could understand this, it was his name after all, but the familiarity of it was what threw him off. Who would dare call him Draco other than his mother and some of his friends on their good day or when they needed a favour? 

And then “merry Christmas”? Who in Merlin’s name would call this time of the year “merry”? Only fools were excitedly “merry”- a floating Santa flew by, ohohohing his way around the tiny office and dropping real snowflakes all over Draco’s paperwork. He shooed the flying Santa away and slammed his office door . 

He sighed and quickly dried the papers before the ink spread to what he realised was the open book Granger lent him a week ago. An ink-stained book was not going to be the downfall of the Malfoy name. Granger had made it clear that he was not to hurt the book while it was in his possession. Draco had been equally surprised that she thought books had feelings (sure, he had heard of the story of the second year at Hogwarts who mistreated one of the library’s books, whose eerie wailings could still be heard and who haunted the dreams of those who drew on their textbooks, but wasn’t all that convinced about it) and offended that Granger thought he was some uneducated brute. That’s what years of being around Weasley and Potter did to you. You thought everyone was as reckless and as unorganised as those two. 

A glance at the clock on his desk informed him he still had fifteen minutes before the department meeting. Not that it was honestly that important, it was the end of the year and everyone was looking forward meals, seeing people, receiving gifts... Anyway, the meeting was going to be the same as always, they were only going to bring up the same things. 

For Germaine Hayes it was her grandchildren whom she loved to the point of knitting their faces on jumpers she offered to the first person she met upon completion. Draco had received one of the atrocities on his second week, no one had told him about it. He had unwillingly accepted the gift and could now begrudgingly say that the Weasley’s jumpers were not that bad. 

For Victor Fernsten it was the size of his office, as if doing boring paperwork required an office the size of a quidditch pitch. Since Draco started working here four months ago, the only times he talked he complained about Draco having a supposedly bigger office. He was determined on making Draco’s life misery because of it. It was lucky that Fernsten’s definition of misery only comprised spells a twelve-year-old could counter.

For Angelina Linsky, her life was plagued by the department not being important enough to have its own department mailbox. Each time she had to go to the main floor to get her Witch Weekly magazine, all the department knew about it. Thanks to her, Draco was up to date with all the Saviour’s recent sentimental adventures, not that he cared.

As for Richard Winston, the unforeseeable amelioration of his career as the head of a useless department filled with people who were good enough to work at the Ministry, but not good enough to matter was constantly on his mind. The fact that the department accepted two new recruits, two former death eaters, did not play in favour of its reputation. Surely it helped Winston a bit, if they behaved well and proved they could function in a mundane and bureaucratic environment and get on with their coworkers, then he would be praised for his excellent leadership. 

Lastly, Draco along with Theodore Nott would stay silent for the whole meeting, only nodding from time to time and wondering how and why he agreed to work there. A slow death in Azkaban would have been better to whatever his daily life consisted in currently. The situation was terrible not only because of the people he worked with, but because his only support, a fellow Slytherin, seemed to like to review dusty files about cases closed a century ago. Draco ignored if Nott was taking the whole reinsertion through the workplace seriously or if he pretended only to make Draco mad. If it was the latter, it was working.

The door of his office swung open. “We’re not allowed to close our doors”, Nott leaned on the doorframe. 

“I have been here for four months Nott, I am aware of Winston’s silly rule," Nott made an annoying 'whatever you say' face, "you could have a least knocked, what if I was doing something... private?"

"You would have to be more sexually deprived than I thought to jerk off in this office" Draco feigned to be offended, but Nott was right. There was no way he was engaging in anything remotely sexual in this office.

"By private, I meant writing Christmas letters to all my loved ones," he pointed at the horrible postcard on his desk "why must your brain be rotten like this?"

Of course, the pine tree started to sing and confetti errupted from its mouth, further covering the floor of Draco's office. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He was going to need a long and relaxing bath after all of this.

Nott looked at the card, not belieing what he was seeing. "You, you write Christmas cards? I thought you had better taste, that card is hideous."

"I know!" Nott took a step into his office, wanting to see more clearly who it was from. To which Draco cut him off "No coming into an office uninvited, what are you, a troll? And the sender of this horrid card is none of your business".

Nott smirked and stepped back into the corridor. "Oh, I see. I met him this morning, it's really thoughtful of him to come here and drop this card on your desk. Who thought not having a mailbox would lead to something so romantic?"

The poor lad had definitely lost his mind. "What's romantic about a tree vomiting? Have you seen its eyes?Are you alright? Should I owl St Mungo?" Draco followed Nott out of his office, not without spelling the card silent and tucking it in his robes -he'd deal with the confetti later- and cam to a dead stop. "Him? You know who it is?"

"Don't feign surprise, Malfoy." 

Nott started walking towards the meeting room. Damn the lanky bastard and his long legs, Draco caught up to him and nearly crashed into Nott when he suddenly stopped in from of the meeting room.

Nott wasn't smiling, but he chuckled lowly and looked Draco right in the eye before entering the room "You know who it is too".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! How are you doing? I haven't posted anything in a while, but I was inspired by Christmas and here I am with a story (and I don't know how many chapters).  
> I hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Vive le vent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if Draco knows who sent the card, the real question is why?

“You know who it is”. When did Nott become so observant?

During their Hogwarts days, Nott was always on his own in a corner of the Common room and whenever he felt like it, he would join Pansy, Blaise and Draco for a while, only to crawl back into his corner when he had had his dose of socialization. The only noticeable thing about him was his unusual friendship with Lovegood. Draco could not fathom when or why they became friends, but it suddenly happened in fourth year.

Then, during the war, like most Slytherin kids, he had been forced into the Dark Lord’s army by his father and was now sentenced to working a year in this stupid Ministry department. Draco was fairly sure the judge sent Nott with him because Nott had shown a “more stable” personality, meaning he had not mingled into death eater business as much as Draco did.

He sighed and looked at the few words scribbled on the card. The handwriting was familiar. He had seen it so much when they were in Hogwarts. And even if he did not memorize the way he formed his “o”, Potter’s handwriting was all over newspapers and magazines. The last time he saw it was in last week’s Witch Weekly. Linsky had left it on the coffee table in the main area, so he borrowed it and ended up skimming Potter’s letter. It was boring text about his daily life as an Auror, as if anyone would be interested to read about how he arrested two wanted criminals on his own while his hands were bound. Who could even believe such a story?

Duchesse, his grey owl, hooted gingerly as if agreeing with his thoughts. He got up from his sofa, dropping the card on his wodden coffee table. He managed to silence it and to reduce the flow of confetti after the meeting with he department. Everything went as he predicted it would, except for Winston’s annoying good mood. He shook hands with Harry Potter, even talked to the Saviour and he suddenly was a new man.

Draco rolled his eyes. He fed Duchesse and pondered whether he should try to cook or order takeout. Pansy’s face when she passed by his flat two days ago to complain about her work came back to him. Sure, his fridge was more on the empty side of life, but it did not mean he didn’t cook. He did pasta the other day and they turned out alright. Noone believed him, not even Blaise who probably never touched a pan in his life, when he said he could cook.

He’ll cook himself a magnificent meal tonight, to show these excuses of friends what he truly was capable of.  
With all the chopping, dropping in the pan, and seasoning he was doing, he forgot completely about the Christmas card. So, when he settled on the coffee table to eat, he was surprised to find a little pile of confetti on the table.

“Right,” he sighed and carefully picked up the card to examine it once again. His thumb brushed over the three words, “Merry Christmas Draco”. The bastard did not even have the courage to sign his own bloody card. Even a cold H. P. could have been enough. But no, no, Potter had to drop the atrocity on his desk when he was out for lunch. And Gryffindors are supposed to be the brave ones.

The whole thing seemed like a joke. Draco thought about it during the meeting and even now, he couldn’t stop thinking that Potter was taking the piss out of him. What else could have driven him to humiliate him further? As if defending Draco at his bloody trial had not been enough! No, it definitely was a stupid joke between Potter and the rest of the universe.

“Darling?” A voice rose from the fireplace disrupting his thoughts as well as his meal. He threw a quick heating spell to keep it warm. “Draco, I know you can hear me!” Pansy did not usually call him during the week, it was still Tuesday after all. It could only mean trouble.

He begrudgingly moved from the comfortable sofa he was in to lean on the mantelpiece. “What?”

“Ooooh, someone’s in a foul mood!” grinned Pansy. “My day went well, thanks for asking”.

“Pansy, today’s not the day for this,” his meal was calling him on the coffee table and he was this close to shutting all connections to his fireplace for the night, “I don’t know why you’re calling, but I’m busy at the moment”.

“Is it about the card?” Pansy said with excitement.

He stared at her until she explained herself. “Alright, alright. You know I work at the Justice department.”

“Yes, I am aware your job is so much better than mine, thank you.” Draco usually bemoaned his work while Pansy pretended to listen to his endless lament. Pansy didn’t have much to complain about, she did paperwork at the Justice department, had her eyes on one of her coworkers, often saw Potter, didn’t have Winston always roaming around and checking on everything Draco touched, did or said. No, really, Pansy and Blaise (luck reincarnated) who did paperwork for the Auror department, lived in luxury while his life was a bottomless pit of despair and ennui. 

“We’re not having this conversation again, darling.” Pansy looked at him with one of her ‘deal with it, you are an adult’ look and carried on, “what I was saying is I often see Granger, and this afternoon she asked me if I had any news about the… card”.

“Huh” Ah, so Granger was in it too. And he thought she was one of the most intelligent witches of this century (something he would never say in front of her obviously) …

“Is that really all you have to say?” said Pansy looking disappointed.

“What exactly do you want me to say? It’s a Christmas card with an ugly singing tree who throws up confetti! It’s a joke, Pansy, what’s more to say about it?”

“A what?” Pansy’s eyes widened.

Draco stomped to the coffee table and presented the card to Pansy. While she did the best impression of a fish he had ever seen, he repeated himself slowly “a Christmas card with a singing tree, well, it’s not singing anymore, but it sang, you can ask Nott about it, who throws up confetti, see, there’s a bit here…”. He chuckled. It was ridiculous.

“That… Uh… Wait. I have to call Granger. Call you back!” Pansy’s head disappeared, and he considered throwing the card into the embers, but thought he’ll be the bigger person by not acting as childishly as Potter and his friends.

He sat back in his sofa, resuming his meal and cut the connexion to his fireplace so he could enjoy his evening in silence and perhaps brood a little. Only for a little while he’d think about the image of Potter he managed to build from the war up till now. He had begun to think Potter wasn’t all that bad. The fact that he was gorgeous helped a bit, but overall his attitude towards Draco changed. When they met each other at Ministry galas or in corridors, Potter acknowledged his presence and sometimes even came to talk. These conversations were not the most eloquent ones he’s ever had for sure. As usual, Potter’s social skills were ghastly and Draco, well, he seemed to forget how to speak English when he looked into Potter’s eyes. Draco ended up blurting “oh, tes yeux sont vraiment verts” and just remembering it now made him want to crawl into a cave and never come out. Luckily, Potter did not understand a single thing he said.

That night, after a long warm bath, Draco tossed and turned, chasing after sleep, a green-eyed Christmas tree singing a Christmas carol in French following him everywhere he went.


End file.
